Life Of Secrecy
by OneBookKindOfGirl
Summary: Nora and Patch had the perfect life, emphasis on the had. What happens when devilcraft returns, leaving Nora supposedly dead? Will she and Patch be able to be together? Or will they be forced to be apart for eternity?
1. The Beginning Of The End

I grab the broom, carefully sweeping up all the clatter left behind from the most recent, and horrific fight Patch and I'd ever been in. You hear about couples breaking up all the time, just never do you expect it to occur to you.

Breaking up. Two simple words, said constantly, and yet, they're some of the scariest ones possible. Tears well in my eyes as I sweep through the glass and ceramic left coating the floor, as well as the gold of the ring he himself had gifted me after the war between the fallen and nephilim. Patch had only said that he needed some time to himself, but the tension in the air could have been cut with a knife.

As a I pick up the dustpan, a new thought blooms in my mind, the kids. The twins, Angelina and Evangeline, Cassiel, as well as the new one along the way that I'd yet to inform Patch of. After the girls were born last year, he'd made it evident that he had no intention of new kids, as well as claimed he'd run out of angel names that he liked. We'd been more careful about protection now, and I've been taking pills, but it's been easy to forget with the running around with the children all the time.

My thought stream is suddenly interrupted by the smashing of the window next to me, and a the tall, definitely nephilim man standing in a mask whilst holding a devilcraft coated knife. My mind is suddenly in a flurry, thoughts flowing here and there, but mostly, I have to wonder how. Devilcraft was eradicated years ago, making this nearly impossible. If I've learned anything in life, it's to always expect the unexpected, yet nothing had prepared me for this. My next thought is of the kids. They're all still (hopefully) in their beds sleeping, where they are presumably in less danger, but I won't be able to live with myself if they get hurt. Unfortunately, the living with it part isn't very necessary, because the next thing I know, the devilcraft laced knife is lodged straight through my rib cage, and deep within my chest. Based on the positioning of the knife, it's probably safe to assume that there is no chance for me now.

Lying on the warm hardwood floors, I find it difficult to recognize the pain. I don't even remember the man leaving, but rather the only thing I can seem to think of, is Patch. Patch, Patch, Patch. His name echoes terribly in my mind, causing unbearable grief. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, hardly feeling a thing, and pull out my cellphone. Hastily, I type in his number, something I'd long since memorized, and listen to the ringing. It isn't long before the phone goes to voicemail, so I call once more, this time getting an answer.

"What?" A tired, and obviously angry Patch responds.

I waste no time, and immediately begin in, "Patch," I pause as a groan of pain comes up, "you need to promise me that when you get back, no matter what you see, you'll take care of the kids, you'll make sure they have great lives, and guard them with all you have. I want you to tell me that even when I'm gone, you'll be happy, and more connected to others than ever, and finally, that you will never forget me, nor what you are promising."

I hear a sharp inhale, followed by a quickening of breaths, along with squealing of tires. I can tell that he's turning the car around to race back to the house, but if the now blue tinted blood that's leaking and pooling out of my body is any indicated, I don't have long before I'm done.

"Nora, what the hell are you talking about?!" He rushes, "Are you alright, I'm on my way home, I can be there in ten minutes." With that, the car clearly speeds up as he hurries back.

Once again, my eyes swell with tears, "It's alright, Patch, it's too late. No matter what it is that you do, you won't make it in time. I need you to tell me that you promise to do everything I said, and I want you to know that I love you more than I ever thought possible," I gasp out. My speech has become breathy, and I'm not sure if it was even eligible.

"Angel," I hear him murmur and choke through tears, "Angel."

"Patch, I need to hear you say it!" I say with my last gasp of air.

"I promise."


	2. Our New Lives

**Still not quite sure I like this story, but I've been bored recently and decided to play around with a few ideas. Let me know what you think!**

TWELVE YEARS LATER

The ride up to Hell's Hill is anything but gracious. The pebbled road makes you feel as though there is a terrible earthquake beneath the car, but once at the top, you see that the awful drive is truly worth it. Yet at the same time, you can't help but wonder if the name perhaps came from the gruesome terrain scaling up its side.

I grunt as the wheels of the mercedes begin to slip on the gravel. The rain always gives me trouble with the road up to Alyn Manor. The large area of medieval civilization had been built along the bank of the River Alyn, hence the name, which provides a spectacular view for anyone at the top. I switch the gears in order to obtain the last bit of power it needed to continue winding its way up the hill. I've asked Dante about a thousand times to get new tires, but he keeps giving me the same old crap about how no other tire matches his damn car.

Dante was "a balancing of nature," as the archangels like to call it. A pure soul returns to earth, but impure must go along with, and since no spirit could ever be as equally great as Dante's was bad, and Scott died with such moral intentions, he returned with us. Of course it's taken time to get used to living with them both at the old manor once belonging to Patch, but I've learned to get along with them with brotherly love.

I jump out into the rain the instant that the car is parked. It is easy to tell from here that Scott hadn't done the simple job of picking up the confetti he'd thought it'd be a good idea to shoot everywhere to wake me up, and now colorful water was slowly making its way down the hill. I grunt as I step in another "pleasant" surprise, oil. The thick, sticky substance now has created a layer on the bottom of my converse. It isn't hard to tell where the mess came from, Scott had also supposedly been changing the oil in my car while I drove Dante's to school. School was one of the many perks of swearing that oath to Patch, seeing as I'll never be bored, and life can and will go on for hundreds of years and I won't age a day.

Fuming, I march to the door of the large stone mansion before me. They already know not to screw with me for the next two weeks. Cheshvan, AKA Patch and my anniversary is a time of zero tolerance. Even Ramiel, who is only nine understands that.

Ramiel's name was particularly interesting to me since not only did it follow Patch and I's pattern of angels, but the original Ramiel had been an archangel, and one of the first to fall. According to Patch, in the adventures he seldom told me of, Ramiel was a close friend, closer than Rixon. Ramiel had also been born during a huge thunderstorm, and since Ramiel means "thunder of God," I felt that it'd been deemed appropriate.

Oh how I miss Patch. When I was returned to earth for the sole purpose of bringing the child I carried to life, I was forced to swear an oath to keep out of my previous life as best I could.

Deciding it'd be best if I just leave my thoughts of Patch alone, I grab the large brass handle to the house, and wipe tears that I just am now noticing. The second I step through the ten-foot mahogany doors, I'm hit with an overwhelming smell of popcorn and beer. Instinctively, my face falls to a grimace. I can also hear the loud echoing on the walls of whatever movie the boys are watching now.

I march into the living room where Dante and Scott lie on the couch, beers in hand, and popcorn covering the bear hide on the floor that currently acts as a rug. They look up hesitantly from the T.V. before returning their empty faces to the screen. I'm not even sure that my being registered in their minds until Dante slurs out, "If you wanna watch you have to grab a few more beers from the fridge."

"Make that a bottle of bourbon," Scott adds with a chuckle. Nothing said was funny, he's just drunk.

"I. HAVE. HAD. IT. WITH. YOU. TWO!" I annunciate, "You dumbasses have an hour before Ramiel gets back from Sam's house, and if every ounce of popcorn isn't picked up, and all alcohol thrown out or put away, the you two will get it! Then, I want both of you to drink 5 glasses of water, and try to sober yourselves up in the shower!" As I finish my rant, I notice how my skin is boiling and how I haven't been this mad in years. Then again, they were kind of poking the bear with the stick, what sane person wouldn't be pissed at this sight?

"Oh come on, you need to relax. Seriously though, when was the last time you allowed yourself to get even the slightest bit drunk? You need to let loose, let everything go for a while!" Dante whines.

When neither of them make any move to do as I requested, I stomp to behind the couch, flipping it slightly so that the two of them crash to the floor, where they remain in a heap. I groan knowing that I should have known better. Scott and Dante would rather run away than assist in cleaning up, something I've learned through the experience of hunting them down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another short chapter...oops. Oh well, at least I got something done-ish. Please review! I'd love to hear feedback on my story!**

"Shit!" I scream in realization of the time. If I want to be on time to school (and I do), then I have about ten minutes before I need to be out the door. This wouldn't be too difficult if I didn't also have to get Ramiel. Scott used to say that there are three types of people; morning people, people who hate mornings, and Ramiel. On a good day, I can get him to be ready in an hour. Good days occur about once a year.

"Ramiel!" I scream as loudly as I can. I wait a few seconds with no reply before sprinting down the hall with nephilim speed to his room. "Ramiel, get the hell out of bed! We need to go, now!"

"You said hell was a bad word," he mumbles into his pillow.

"Whatever, besides, it's Dante's old neighborhood. And it'll be yours if you can't butt out of bed and dressed in the next two minutes, you hear me?" He nods swiftly. Ramiel, however terrible in the morning, has always been obedient.

I march myself back to my own room, dressing quickly in a pair of jean shorts, a tie-dyed tank top, wrapping my hair into a loose bun, as well as swiping on a dash of mascara and lipgloss, my maximum amount of makeup. I sigh as I jump over the stone foyer down to the first floor. "Still got it," I state proudly to no one in particular. I check my watch for the two minute timer that I'd set for Ramiel to get ready. "Ten, nine, eight, seven. . ." I shout out, knowing that he'd come sprinting down the stairs any second.

Once he does, he rushes past me with such speed I nearly fall over. Ramiel merely snorts as I reach up to grab onto an old rusty sword hanging on the wall. Of course, the manor house had been renovated to get things like electricity, plumbing, heating, etc., but the majority of the rooms are still in their same shape, including the old relics hanging or standing around the house. Even some of the rugs and hides found throughout dated back a few centuries to when Patch must have lived here under the rules of manorialism and feudalism. I can't help but giggle at the thought of Patch marching around in odd attire, which causes Ramiel to look at me funny.

"Quit your staring and get in the darn car!"

"Which car? Yours, uncle Scott's, or uncle Dante's?"

"Better take Scott's, I highly doubt that he actually changed the motor oil."

I grab the jaguar F-type SVR convertible keys off the hook in the front hall and run out to the sleek black car. God, those two and their flashy cars. Although if I'm being totally honest, I'm just as bad with my own car. By the time the keys are in the ignition, Ramiel is already in the car with the backpack that he must have packed the night before.

I turn the car around preparing to head down the hill still slick with last night's rain. As I do so, I check in the rear view mirror to verify that Ramiel is buckled in. "Did you happen to pack a lunch in that time, Rami?" I question, although assuming the answer will be a no.

He shakes his head side to side slowly, still groggy from having just woken up.

"Alright, what time is your lunch today?"

"12:05 on Tuesdays. Same as it's always been, mom."

"My lunch break is 11:45 to 12:45. I can drop something off. Anything you want today?"

"Pizza?" He asks with a glint of hope in his eyes. How can I say no to those dark glossy eyes and cute dimples? "And ice cream too?"

"Fine," I cave. I see him pump his fist in the air. "But only if you promise to clean your room tonight."

"Okay," Rami responds with less enthusiasm than before.

"Good."

We drive in silence as I took glances at the shops along Preble Street, the Champs D'Elysee or Grande Allee, if you will, of Benwick. Benwick isn't exactly a large town, but Preble Street is known for being bustling with tourists checking out all the restaurants and stores lining the sidewalk. Similarly to Preble, although Alyn Manor is private property, passersby gawk at the few glimpses they can get through the trees atop the hill, wanting to see the heart of the town and where it originated.

As I pull up to Midford Elmentary Private School I nearly scream in frustration at the line to drop children off. With this backup, I'll be able to might make it to school in 12 hours if I'm lucky.

By the time I finally pull up to the drop off area, I'm practically pulling my hair out. Dropping off a child should _not_ take half an hour. "By, Rami, I'll see you this afternoon! Love you!"

 _Love you too, but you can't say that_ in front of people! _It's embarrassing!_ He mind speaks to me. I burst out laughing as I head over to Milford High.


End file.
